A Whole New World
by A.T. Ascalon
Summary: Frida is a warrior with a sword, a motorcycle and a heart of gold, stuck in a world of no-hearts with no smarts and a hunger for the living. She can mostly make it on her own, but she's on a quest to find other people... and when that quest leads her to a hybrid and a boy from another planet with mysterious abilities, she wonders just how much stranger the world can get.
1. Chapter 1

The barren, rocky ground shook beneath their feet- the heat growing exponentially with every passing second, singeing their robes, slowly baking their skin. Here, with all their powers combined, all their influence put together, they had made their last stand- the last stand in the galaxy.

They hadn't been able to stop the war. They hadn't been able to stop his suicide mission. His hatred for life and his power- one perhaps came after the other- had consumed the galaxy in turmoil, had polluted the minds of the people across the stars, not so unlike a certain Chancellor had done so many years ago. He was the greediest kind of man, so selfish and thirsty for power it made him staggeringly powerful, even with no influence in the force. He craved the galaxy- all of it- and when he couldn't have it, he couldn't let it be. So he blasted Kyzak, the largest of the stars, and signed the death certificate of trillions of people.

The last free-minded group, the guardians of peace who so diligently defended the peoples for so many years had gathered on this moon, intent to stop the explosion. They had been fully confident in the power of the force. Fully confident they'd be enough to hold in the energy until it all settled again. Confident it wouldn't happen if they focused, for "Size matters not", as the old proverb went. So confident, for there was nothing else to be.

Their confidence was misplaced. Not even 123 jedi could stop a super-nova. And they were all about to die if they didn't act quickly.

120 of them remained frozen in place- hands extended toward the sky, their eyes closed, their thoughts consumed by the giant, blindingly white orb, which axis' contorted and warped as it's thin exterior threatened to burst. They were browning quickly like a paper near flame, but they did not move nor even flinch. They couldn't save the galaxy, but perhaps they could save the future.

The remaining three sprinted toward the escape capsule, their tattered robes flowing behind them, the tallest of them leading the way, a kicking young boy in his arms.

"I can help! Let me go, Master! Let me go!" He screamed loudly, twisting desperately to escape the strong grasp.

The man ignored his plight, continuing to dash across the barren, dead ground, the other two jedi in tow. They could see the pod in the distance, just over the horizon, glimmering in the unbalanced sun. The force propelled them even faster. The force, which would survive despite the outcome of this venture- they prayed it would be enough.

The boy planted a defiant foot in Master Soota's face, jerking his head upwards towards the sky. He had no time to react to the boy. His eyes landed on Kyzak- more specifically on the edge of it- a small beam of light shot out of the side- instantly vaporizing a tiny blue planet lightyears away- a tiny blue planet covered in people. Naboo. The explosion had begun.

He knew he was out of time- and with a nod to his counterparts, he leapt into the air with all of his strength, flying towards the capsule at a nearly invisible speed. He landed on his knees, feet away from the pod, shattering his bones; but sparing the boy from any damage. Soota screamed- he allowed himself to scream as the sharp pain spread throughout his body- feeling even hotter than the exploding sun. His counterparts landed with ease beside him- at first rushing to his aid. He waved them away with a wrinkled hand- "The boy," He groaned. "Get him in."

The escorting jedi obeyed, however hesitantly. One grabbed the boy while the other opened the capsule door. The boy continued to kick and flail.

"I can help! I belong with you!"

He was again ignored.

The ground began to shake violently again- the wind began to roar, going in every which direction- and the first sounds of the super-nova were beginning to reach them- in the sky the small twinkling lights of the stars began to move sporadicaly in every which direction. This was it. This was the end of the galaxy.

The jedi shoved the child into the ship, one holding him down with the force, the other helping Master Soota to his feet so he could see the boy. Clenching his teeth as he rested his weight on his companion, he shook his head in an effort to fling away the beads of sweat running down into his eyes. The other jedi wiped his brow for him as Soota looked at the squirming young boy in the capsule. He was a handsome kid- around seven with dark brown hair and insatiable blue eyes with sharp features- he was no more than four and a half feet tall. Alot of attitude in that small frame. Alot of ambition, dedication, and will. As good a chance as any to survive- if it was possible at all.

He cleared his throat painfully.

"Marcus-" He called to the boy as calmly as he could, still yelling to be heard over the roar of the wind.

The boy did not hear him.

"MARCUS!" He yelled loudly, nearly collapsing with the effort.

The boy in the pod stopped squirming, his back to them, his shoulders heaving.

"Marcus-"

The boy didn't turn around.

"Marcus, turn around."

The boy turned around in the leather seat- his eyes were full of tears, his eyebrows deeply furrowed, bottom lip quivering. But Soota knew he wasn't angry. He was scared- too scared to even know he was. Oh the trouble that boy had given him, he thought, nearly smiling.

He looked glanced back up at the sky- around a minute left. He looked back to the boy.

"Marcus, you will be the last of all we know. If we have our way, you will be the only one to survive this."

No reaction from the boy.

"You must be strong- you must remember your teaching. Seek to the learn the force and start fresh if you can. Be kind to all you meet, even the weaker ones. Seek wisdom. Seek peace."

The boy grit his teeth and began to pant, threatening to erupt.

"You must be strong, Marcus."

The boy looked away, a tear spilling down his cheek.

Soota reached out his hand and wiped the tear from his face. Marcus turned to look at him, his facade melting, more tears streaming down his face. Soota held his face in his hand. Wiping the tears away with his thumb. Marcus suddenly grabbed his hand tightly in his arms, clinging to it for dear life. He erupted into tears.

"Come with me, Master Soota! Why can't you come with me?!" He sobbed. "I need you!"

Soota exhaled slowly.

"My place is here, my padawan. Yours is not. You have to survive for us, ok? And remember all I taught you. Do you understand?"

Marcus looked into his eyes, hurt. He slowly released his grip on the arm. He schnooked, catching his breath. He tried to calm himself- still only managing to hiccup, "Yes, master."

Soota smiled at him. He let go of his face and grabbed his lightsaber from his belt, offering it to the boy.

"I made this when I was your age- it will serve you well. Never lose it."

Marcus reached up and grabbed it hesitantly and clipped it on his own belt. With this Soota reached in and buckled the boy into his seat and pressed the ignition button. The boosters roared to life as the count-down began: "10, 9, 8, 7..."

"The force be with you, Marcus."

"...5, 4, 3..."

Marcus leaned back in his seat, resigned, not answering. Soota began to close the hatch-door when Marcus called out-

"Wait, where am I going?"

Soota shook his head.

"Who knows?"

"...1, 0. Take-off has begun."

He slammed the door shut and the three remaining jedi stepped away as the capsule took off.

They nodded to one another and stretched their hands out towards the escaping space craft, pouring the very last of themselves into this one push. It disappeared from sight.

_We did it. _Soota thought to himself._ Just in time._

And at that moment, in a blinding flash of light, they were no more. No more Republic, no more war. No more galaxy far, far away.

All that was left was one young Padawan soaring through space, just ahead of the explosion the just ended everything and everyone he ever knew. And as he jetted through space, the only window faced ahead of him towards empty space- towards the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2: The Living Must Live

She looked it up and down- studying it closely, unsure just how badly she needed it. For one, it was small. For another, it was a vehicle. But mostly, it didn't need keys, and that was the barrier between her and the nicest cars in the town- she didn't know how to hotwire a car. It was a big barrier that kept her from the world of "luxury" and in the world of necessity. In the same world as this little old 1970's moped. It was old, sure. But she'd borrowed her friend's before, and these things were troopers. It may have been black and rusty, but she had no doubt it would work. She knew enough to fix it, and the mileage... well, the mileage just may be the vehicle's biggest appeal.

She shook her head. Before the fall, she would have been embarrassed to ride on such a thing- the wealthiest girl in Newport should be riding in Mercedes and Accords... not on this little miniature motorcycle covered in rust with a little basket on the front and a banana seat.

But that was just the point.

There was nobody to see.

She would never be caught dead carrying a cavalry sword on her hip or wearing a tattered leather jacket, either- but look at how many times they'd saved her life so far.

She glanced around. Still nothing in site- a few distant moans, but she figured she'd be safe. She was on the outskirts of what had once been her hometown, surrounded by run-down houses that had once played home to the tightly-knit families of Newport's lower-middle class. She'd known a few people from this neighborhood. Good people. … And now she was stealing a bike from them.

"Oh well," she sighed. "The living must live."

With another glance down the quiet street, she stepped towards the moped and pushed down the clutch. It _clicked_ happily at her touch. She smiled... it would be good to have wheels again.

She switched the bright red switch on the bike's handle and pulled on the gas, feeling the scrape of dust build-up beneath the handle as she did. _God, please let this work..._

Stomping down hard on the kick-start, the engine roared to life all too cheerily, sputtering in place, eager to be taken off the kick-stand.

The sound echoed off of the abandoned houses, likely the loudest sound since the last thunderstorm. Frida froze in place- she had not expected it to be so loud. She looked around again- the disheveled cobblestone street was still empty, save the wrappers and trash collected in the gutters. Empty except for the one walker limping slowly towards her at the end of the street- his yellowed eyes were fixed on her, his grayish skin peppered with red- and white wriggling holes. Maggots. Her stomach wrenched at the site- this man had been killed in the initial outbreak, a victim of the disease- he had no outward wounds. Somehow, those were the far more disturbing group to her. They looked so much more human, yet still so much less.

"_Nyyyuhh...Gaaarrr..."_ He moaned, liming a little more quickly.

She shuddered and unsheathed her sword. It sparkled in the midday sun... it always looked so darn good the day after a cleaning. But all good things must come to an end- so she calmly approached him, sword raised, gritting her teeth to hold back the vomit threatening to erupt from within her.

At five feet or so, he lunged forward with his arms outstretched, obviously ready for his next meal. He was too slow, and Frida shrugged to the side and swung down hard on the back of his neck, cleanly separating the head. The form collapsed lifelessly, spewing brown liquid on the bricks, filling the crevices and trickling towards the curb. The head rolled a few feet away into the gutter, where it looked up towards the sky lifelessly, it's mouth still open. He was maybe forty or fifty- full head of hair, but somewhat wrinkled, the kind of face that could've belonged to a loving father or husband. And here he had ended his journey- lunging at young women in the street and now decapitated with maggots slithering in and out of his face. She shook her head, her nose crinkling, trying to breathe slowly; but it was too late. She vomited all over the body.

She wiped her mouth and put her sword back in the sheath. Grabbing a large, tattered brown paper bag from the side of the road, she returned to the head and put the bag over it.

"Rest in peace. God bless you." She whispered, her eyes closed.

And with that she hopped back on the moped and sped out of sight.

The highway is seemingly infinite when you travel it empty and at around only 30 miles per hour. But thirty is far better than four and on foot, dragging a wagon behind you. Frida was grateful for her small indulgence of a vehicle, and her wagon zoomed behind her, it's handle carefully duct-taped to the back of the bike. She smiled... she had it made. Well, made until she ran into a hoard. But that bridge could only be crossed when came to.

If she'd been wiser, perhaps she'd never even had seen a hoard. After the initial outbreak occurred, the one which took out 98% of the world population (and all her family and friends) in a month, she'd been desperate for shelter. She looted the local Dollar General and set herself up on the 60th floor of a high-rise apartment complex in Atlanta and sealed stairways. She'd been fine for the whole three weeks she lived up there- no threat whatsoever. She never even unsheathed her sword. But adding all that isolation to the life of someone who had just lost everyone they loved... it was a bad mix. She became lonely, delusional, suicidal, even. By the third week she couldn't take it anymore and fled the building, happy to see even the walkers. That's when she decided upon her quest- she had to find other people. She wasn't living if she didn't find other people. And as she said, "The Living must live."

So she began her quest, and so far- she'd seen no one. And it only grew worse every passing day. It would be easy to give up, treat a walker to dinner, but she couldn't look at those people... the walkers, and realize just how lucky she was. She had survived. What a slap in the face to her family if she just gave up. So she didn't, and here she was. After she found people... who knew? All she knew was that she had to find them first.

It was beautiful countryside, however monotonous. Rolling hills of cornfield after cornfield, a few trees along the side of the road, and big blue sky spanned for miles and miles. She'd been riding for nearly four hours- she should be around a hundred miles from the city now, and likely in need of some gas. She checked the gauge- the red needle hovered above "E". Yes. Time to go.

She pulled off into an exit, carefully scaling up the hill and to the right where a desolate-looking gas-station stood. The windows to the store were bashed in, wrappers cluttered the parking lot. It would be a miracle if she found gas, but she had to try. As she approached the station, she couldn't help but smile- there was a truck by one of the pumps, and the back was filled with Jerry-cans. The owner's remains lay at the side of the truck, stripped of flesh and surrounded by bloody foot-prints. Her smile slipped away, and she remembered that no miracle seemed to be free. But at least one of them had a chance, now.

She killed the engine and hopped off, walking the bike up to the side of the truck. She set it on the kick-stand and unscrewed the cap, reaching for a jerry can in the back. She picked it up and sighed with relief- it was completely full. Thank God. And it made such a satisfying sound when it went into the tank, too. _Gush-gush-glug-gush, Gush-gush-glug-gush..._

Then she heard it, the other sounds. Her least favorite sounds.

_Gynnuh... Gynnuh... _And the scrape of boots on the pavement.

There were at least three of them, she could tell by the different tones. So she put the can down and slowly turned around to find five slowly limping towards her, no more than fifteen feet away. Three of them seemed to be truckers, heavier-set with caps. One of them was a farmer missing one of his arms- He wore a straw hat with bib-overalls, and his mouth hung open, drool pouring from the corner. She looked a little closer and nearly laughed- he still had a pinch-ful of dip in his gum. The remaining walker was a younger woman with a rotting, deep bite-mark in her neck, and a round, protruding belly. She had been pregnant... eight months, judging by the size. Poor baby. Poor woman.

She unsheathed her sword and stepped back, planning her attack carefully. With a quick look behind her, she sprung into action, running up to the closest of the group, a trucker, and swinging down hard on his knee- nearly severing it, had it not been for the jeans. He dropped to the ground, beginning to crawl. The three behind him paid him no mind and continued to creep towards her. She stepped back again, watching them trip over the crawler and onto the ground. As they tried to get back up she ran forward and swiped off the heads of the pregnant woman and one-legged trucker, gritting her teeth at the wet sound that followed. The heads had come off easier than she had expected, causing the excess energy to throw her forward, nearly falling on the remaining walkers- she caught herself, but so had they- one of the truckers held her ankle tightly, squeezing hard, pulling his chomping mouth towards her leg, ready to be fed. She jerked her foot back and kicked his forehead with her toe, bashing the skull in and sending splatters of blood everywhere. She stepped back from the fourth walker, trying to catch her breath. That had been close- a second longer and she'd have been-

It latched onto her arm so fast, she barely had time to register what had happened, but she knew sure enough... The farmer from Hell was biting at her arm, knocking her sword from her hand as he tried desperately to penetrate the thick leather jacket with his four remaining teeth. She tried to shove him off, but he was strong, too strong, and sent her falling forward towards the other remaining walker- now finally on his feet again. She landed hard on the concrete, pinned beneath the impressive weight of Old McWalker. Her sword had fallen to the ground a few feet away- out of arms reach. She squirmed, trying to free herself, but to no avail. The other walker threw himself to the ground and was reaching towards her, moaning loudly, eagerly. She looked around her, looking for something, anything. She spied only one thing- a rusty tire gauge in the trucker's front shirt pocket. She stretched out her arm, just barely pinching it between her fingers when the trucker turned his head and bit her arm as well. The leather jacket could only last so long; the two were gnawing relentlessly.

She tried to free her arms- no good. They were pinned. So she did the only thing she knew how to: She used her head. She went for the trucker first- he was holding down her weapon. She reared back and hit him hard with her forehead- bumping him off of her arm, giving her just enough time to stick the tire-guage into his eye- hitting the soft brain matter and dropping him. She turned to the farmer, who still was gumming her jacket determinedly. She stuck the guage in his eye, and he went limp, his head sliding off her arm and into the puddle of drool and shredded tobacco he'd put out in the struggle. She shimmied from beneath the heavy form and struggled to her feet, panting heavily. She had been lucky. More than lucky. She checked her surroundings one last time and collected her sword from the sidewalk, sliding it into her sheath with a sigh. The bodies' brown, chunky blood had formed a small pool around them, emitting a horrendous odor that nearly made her dizzy. She shook her head and went into the store- surprisingly unlocked.

The store was in an equal state of disarray. Wrappers all over, display cases toppled across the aisles, shards of glass littered the floor from the broken window. On a positive note, the walls were still a lovely shade of sea-foam green, Frida's favorite color. This store had definitely been looted- but definitely not tapped out- there were still cans of tuna, candybars and soup to be had. The only of these still fully in stock were mushrooms. She grabbed those too. In the back of the store lay a long-dead biker on his stomach, a pocket knife handle protruding from the back of his head. He was wearing the typical biker gear- heavy, black-fringed jacket, black-leather chaps, boots, shades, and... BINGO! A brown leather satchel. She carefully removed it from his arm and turned it inside out. Completely empty... just as good. She slipped the cans into it and returned to the front of the store. She peeked over the counter to find a dead elderly woman in a green uniform dress, her hair still styled, her face emotionless and limp. On her breast was a magnetic-pin, declaring her name to be "Betsy." She carefully reached down and pulled the front part of the pin off. She slid it into her pocket and gave one final glance around the store, making sure she hadn't missed anything. She grabbed the last water bottle from the cooler and a small bottle of 2 cycle engine oil on her way out- she'd been lucky again.

Outside, she took a tarp from the bed of the stranger's truck and covered the pile of bodies, saying her usual prayer, "Rest in peace. God bless you." As she did. It was a little silly, she knew, but it saved her humanity- and that was the point. In a way, it saved theirs, too.

She finished gassing up and hopped on her bike, taking only one can of gas with her, hoping the rest might offer a second chance to someone, too. And as she kick-started the engine, she stuck the magnetic-pin onto the tank of the bike.

Betsy vroomed happily as they continued their slow but steady journey on the highway to... well, who knew, honestly? The goal was only to find at least one person.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a purple hue on the rolling fields that had spanned her entire trip. Still no-one in sight, even after she checked every wrecked car she passed. The parts were gone, so someone had been here, at sometime. But they were nowhere to be found now. All she saw now was this walker standing by the side of the road.

...Standing. She'd never seen a walker do that before. They'd always been moving or writhing or crawling or something. But this one was just standing still, facing the sunset. He was an unimposing figure- slim, average build. A dirty plaid shirt and blue jeans on, with dark hair. And he was just standing there. Could he be a...

She slowed down as she approached it- her heart beating in her chest. Could her quest be comlete? The figure turned around as the sound of her bike came within earshot._ He turned around!_ She still was a little far-off, but he was fully clothed and she didn't see any markings or injuries. He had dark brown hair and a beard- so good, so far... He was staring at her, like she was at him. She was within fifty feet now, and could see him clearly, see him squinting with his bright yellow eyes- her heart sank. His eyes were gold, and he was a walker. Tears rolled down her cheeks, a sob mounting in her chest. She had so hoped...

She stopped her bike and got off. At least she could put him out of his misery. She unsheathed her sword, her tears falling hard now, as she walked up to the figure who had begun to walk towards her. She raised the sword above her head as she met him, posing to strike when she saw his mouth move, accompanied by a low, harsh whisper escaping his lips-

"Who are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

It had finally happened.

She lost it.

She was cuckoo for Coco Puffs.

She knew, because walkers don't talk, and she'd just heard him as clear as day. He asked who she was.

She kept the sword raised but stepped no further- this stranger did the same. This pale, dark-haired stranger with the bright yellow eyes and the smell of death. His thick, short beard was caked with blood. He was covered in dirt and grime. This had to be a walker, a well-fed walker. But she couldn't strike him down. The voice was too real.

They stared at one another for a while, neither daring to talk or move. Perhaps he was in a trance, this one. Maybe he was blind? So she was silent and poised to strike should he make a move. But he didn't. He was still, completely still. Not even really breathing, yet if she didn't know better, she's swear he was looking into her eyes.

Her arms flinched when he opened his mouth again, his voice so raw and quiet she could barely make out the sound.

"Who are you?"

Frida stepped back, her sword still in the air.

"Did you just speak to me?" She asked cautiously.

The figure let out a small, strangled cough.

"I asked you who you were." He asked again slowly.

Chills- either of joy or shear terror- began to take hold of her body. There was no doubt he was a walker. The yellow eyes never lie- yet he was speaking. A talking walker.

"I'm Frida. Who are you?"

"Jim." He whispered harshly. "My name is Jim."

Frida watched him for another moment, unsure of how to proceed. As she lowered her sword he took a step closer. She reflexively stepped back, clutching her sword, still unsure.

Jim froze in his tracks, holding out his hand in defense.

"I understand your worry." He said hoarsely, pointing to his eyes. "But I don't bite."

"Then what ARE you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Jim dropped his hand and looked at the ground, searching for words. He shrugged. "I guess I'm thirsty."

Frida instinctively grabbed her water bottle from her side and unscrewed the lid, holding it out to him, her hand shaking. He reached out to take it, but stopped mid-way.

"Is this yours?" He asked quietly.

"Of course it's mine. Take it." She urged. Walker or not, he was company. Somebody to help. Crazy or not, she was in need of someone else, so she put the water bottle in his startlingly cold hand.

He didn't move.

"I don't want to infect you."

Frida froze for a moment. He was a walker- should she be helping a walker?

"Waterfall." She prompted.

He held the bottle up and let some trickle down into his open mouth- he had surprisingly white teeth, she noticed.

After he had downed half the bottle, he carefully screwed the lid back on and handed it back to her.

"Are you hungry?" She was a little afraid of the answer.

"I'm starving." He answered, sitting down indian-style in the grass. Frida grabbed a can of beans from her satchel and pulled the tab open for him. She handed it out to him, and again, he hesitated.

"You need it." He said sternly, his eyes fixed on the can. His voice was much fuller, now that he'd had some water.

"Don't you?" Frida asked, intrigued.

"No. I'd sure like it, though."He said lowly.

"Then eat it. I've got more."

Jim took the can and studied it for a moment.

"You wouldn't happen to have a spoon, would you?"

Frida let out a giggle. She'd never even thought of it, really.

"No. I don't you'll have to go natural on this one."

A weak smile crossed his face.

"I'm good at that one." And he tipped the can to his mouth.

He wolfed in down in record time, still managing not to get a bean on his shirt.

Frida watched this fascinating creature eating the beans- so polite, yet undoubtedly dead. Part of her was delighted to have found him- the other was terrified.

Jim finished and set the can down in the grass. He wiped his mouth off with his sleeve.

"Where did you find those?" He asked.

"Gas station down the way. There's plenty more where that came from."

Jim sat still, ponderous. The guy was either really twisted or truly considerate.. She couldn't tell which.

"Take me there."

Frida snorted. "How?" She jerked her thumb towards the tiny moped and wagon. "I'm not exactly driving a four seater, you know."

"Take me in the wagon, and I'll make it worth your while, Frida." He said quietly. "I know a lot that can help you out."

Frida thought for a moment- could this be as good as it seemed? Could she trust him... it? Could he be the answer to the loneliness she'd been feeling? There were pros and cons on both sides, but to her the choice was easy.

"I'll take you." She said finally after a minute's silence. "Under one condition."

Jim leaned forward, the waning sunlight reflecting into his yellow irises. "What?"

"You tell me what happened to you, and what you are." She said sternly, trying not to show her anxiety.

"Tell me everything I should know about you."

Jim sat scraping some of the dried chunks of blood from his beard absent mindedly.

"Before all this I was a mechanic in the suburbs of Atlanta, so if you take me with you, we'll probably be able to hotwire a good car in no time rather than driving around this old..." He glanced over at the bike. "... thing. And I'd keep it running, too. I-"

"I don't want an audition tape, Jim. I just want to know who you are." Frida cut him off.

Jim took a deep breath, restarting.

"Like I said, I was a mechanic before this." He said slowly. "Had been all my life. I had a wife- Marsha- whom I loved more than anyone except my kids. I had two of them- two boys. Floyd and Jackson. They were twins, both eight years old. Floyd looked like me, Jackson... he looked like his mother. Bright red hair and deep green eyes. I knew he'd be beating those girls off with a stick when he got to highschool." He laughed. "We weren't wealthy, but we got by, and we were happy. Then it all started, you know. The infection, and Floyd got it at school. He was out at recess and this man just came wandering into the playground towards the kids. The teacher thought he was stoned, so she called the police and started walking towards him when Floyd decided to go introduce himself. I told him not to talk to strangers, right?" Tears began to fill his eyes, his voice cracking. "I told him so many times. But he was too goddamn friendly. He was always too friendly. He walked right up to the man and held out his hand. And the guy... he grabbed him and started tearing at him and biting him. Floyd screamed, and the teacher tried to get him away, but she couldn't do anything. The guy was determined. A passerby, luckily had a gun and good aim- shot the guy right in the head before he did too much damage. Floyd got off with a bite to the leg and a few scratches. We all thought he'd need some therapy and a few days off, but he'd be ok. This was before this stuff was even in the news. We had no idea. No idea." He shook his head.

"So I went and brought him home, talked to him. Set up the counseling appointments like his mom wanted, and took a few days off of work to take care of him. The little guy was doing alright the first day, but the second day he got real sick. He got this fever- the hottest I'd ever seen- all over his body. We brought him to the doctor, he gave him all kinds of pain meds. The boy was a limp noodle the last few days of his life. When we were taking care of him, things started getting really bad on the other side of the country. You started seeing it on the news and learning about the virus. It was awful- but the worst was the night I went back to work. I worked thirds, you know, the graveyard shift. Even in the middle of the Apocalypse, Doug wanted me working. That was the night Floyd died. When he turned Jackson was sleeping, he was the first to go. Marsha woke up to him chewing on her arm. She did what she had to do, but it was too late. He bit her. It tore her apart. She didn't even have the strength to call me. I found out when I got home..." The tears began to stream down his face, his shoulders heaving silently as he held back the sobs. "I'd never imagined a hell worse than coming home to my two dead children. As I was looking at the damage, at my babies and my wife, the hoard came in to the house. They just broke down the door. About a dozen of them, and I dodged out of the house, thinking my wife was right behind me, but when I got outside I couldn't find her, and I heard her scream... I just ran. There was nothing else I could do. I just ran. The only reason I got out was because the dead were eating my family."

Frida felt her own tears coming and fought to hold them back. She could listen to no more. It was just too hard.

"Just tell me how you became the way you are... Whatever you are." She said, trying to keep the shakiness at bay. His story moved her, but she didn't know him yet; it was better to keep up appearances until she was sure.

He took in a slow, shuddering breath, summoning his strength.

"After the fall of Atlanta, I fell in with this group of families, people who'd gotten out. It wasn't the strongest group, but it was community. There was Dale, Lori, Carol and Shane, he was the leader of the group, and other than the Dixons he was really the only qualified hunter. He was cop before all this..."

"Cut to the point, Jim." Frida said sternly.

Jim nodded meagerly, the rays of sundown tinting his pale skin purple. "I had this awful dream one night. Bodies, falling to bits onto the ground. Twelve bodies with nowhere to rest, just laying there, and I had to bury them. I had to. I've had these odd dreams all my life- I never thought they'd mean anything at the time, but then the next day or few days later, they'd come to life in one way or another. Like I have a sixth sense of some sort."

Frida leaned in closer. "Go on."

Jim cleared his throat. "Well, the next morning, I was possessed with this need to dig. I went up on the hilltop and dug twelve holes in the Georgia heat. They had to restrain me because I couldn't stop. I cooled off, but that night another hoard came through- half the men were off on a mission, we weren't prepared. Twelve of them died, and I... heh... I got bit on the side. Infected. The group found out and they tried to take me to the Center for Disease Control, their promised land they spoke of so much. They kept trying to tell me I'd be alright, but I was getting these visions, and weaker and weaker, and I knew I wouldn't make it. Even the bumps in the road were so painful. So I asked to be laid by the side of the road to die in peace. They sat me up against a tree-trunk, handed me a gun and said they're goodbyes and left me to die, like I'd asked them too."

"But you didn't die?" Frida asked cautiously.

"No, I died." Jim replied flatly. "At least, I think I did. I blacked out. Then I came back with my wits about me. Now the walkers want nothing to do with me, and that's all I know."

Jim looked down at his chest and adjusted his holey plaid shirt. "I'm sure I look like hell."

Frida smiled a little. "No." She said gently. "Just like you live there."

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the song of the crickets in the field beside the road. Then they heard the coming footsteps and the moment was gone, and she realized how dreadfully dark it was- and she had no shelter.

"Now take me to the gas station." Jim asserted, rising slowly to his feet.

Frida rose and straddled her moped, pointing to the wagon in the back.

"I don't know how this will work, but we're finding shelter now. We can go to the gas station in the morning."

Jim positioned himself in the wagon, laying on his stomach and grasping the sides.

"No, the station. Keep me near you and you'll have no troubles with a few vagrant walkers. We need a good vehicle."

Frida was just getting ready to kick the engine to life, but froze. "'We'?" She inquired, looking back at him.

"We're stronger in numbers... Uh..."

"Frida."

"Right, Frida. I think we should stick together."

Of course the thought had crossed her mind, but knowing he was that which had taken all she had away, and that he was all that sought to kill her made her hesitate. Was he really all there?

"I'll take you to the station and we'll play it by ear. But one false move and you're as good as dead, do you understand me?"

Jim nodded silently, and with that, Frida kicked the engine to life and began the long crawl back up the highway.


End file.
